Mixtape
by Larien Mithrandir
Summary: Drabbles of Pickles, inspired by music, sprinkled generously with some Pickles/Charles action. Rated M for sex, drugs, and alcohol. Reviews are appreciated.


**A/N:** I've done this before, but it's fun. Wanted to do another one. Here are the rules:

1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like. 2. Put iTunes or equivalent media player on random. 3. For each song that plays, write something related to the theme you picked inspired by the song. You have only the time frame of the song: no planning beforehand: you start when it starts, and no lingering afterward; once the song is over, you stop writing. (No fair skipping songs either; you have to take what comes by chance!) 4. Do 5 of these (at least), then post.

I've chosen to use Pickles this time. There will be some Pickles/Charles action…

~Larien~

"_Falling On" Finger Eleven_

The redhead was always drunk. Drunk was just how he lived. Charles always cringed when he watched Pickles stumble down the hallway. He was always afraid that the drummer would trip, fall, and harm himself.

It happened once. Pickles was drunker than usual (he was trying to prove that he really could drink as much as he claimed by drinking more than ever before) and he had nearly fallen down the stairs. Lucky for the Irishman, Charles was there to catch him. He caught the back of Pickles's shirt and pulled him to safety just in time. Unfortunately, Pickles had fallen straight back onto Charles.

"Heheh. Thanks fer catchin' me, chief," Pickles had grinned.

"_Harmageddon" Apocalyptica_

He raised his arms into the air, ready to strike. The guitar chord began to die down and as the next note was plucked, he brought his sticks crashing down onto the drum heads. His arms flew and his legs bounced frantically. He became fully engulfed in what he was doing.

The lights were flashing all around him. The fans were screaming and cheering, some even trying to sing along to the song. He smiled inwardly, knowing that none of them could fully understand what his lead singer was saying.

This is what he lived for. The music. The lights. The fans. The sweat. The labored breathing. The blood. Not his, of course. He loved everything about being up there on that stage, behind that drum kit. It was his passion. It was his life. He never once thought of it as a job. It was more like his destiny.

He was the heartbeat of the world.

"_Lay Down" Priestess_

Pickles knew how to talk to the ladies. He knew how to handle each type. This one might need to hear about how beautiful her eyes are, whereas that one just wants someone to talk dirty to her. They were all different, unique. The redhead prided himself on having a silver tongue when it came to the ladies.

However, there was one person who he couldn't figure out. Albeit, this person was not a lady by any means. It was the one person he wanted, the one he craved. But he had no idea how to talk to this person. Any time they came near each other, he grew nervous. Butterflies flitted around in his stomach around this person. He could seldom manage more than a few words around this person.

So if he could hardly manage to squeak out a hello, how could he get Charles to lay down?

"_Poison" Alice Cooper_

Charles knew better. Knew that a relationship with _him_ would be inappropriate. He was Charles's boss. Charles could not have him, no matter how much Charles wanted him. He knew it would be a disaster, no matter what sort of deal they worked out.

But _oh_ how he wanted that man! Charles was addicted to everything about the man. A sly look that no one else caught, a small upward jerk of the eyebrows. Charles was on needles and pins every time _he_ was around. He just couldn't help himself.

Of course, he believed that any "signal" or "vibe" the man sent him was imagined. The man couldn't possibly have the same feelings for Charles. It just couldn't be possible. And again, there would be the unprofessional nature of a relationship between the two.

So it was with great astonishment that night that Charles opened his bedroom door to find Pickles standing there with a bottle of brandy and a single red rose.

"_October" Evanescence_

It was hard for him to drag himself from the bed in the morning. Pickles had no will to actually live his life. He couldn't stand to look at himself on most days. All he would see would be the remnants of his old life. Brilliant red hair, rapidly running away from his face, so as to eventually leave him bald. Dark, baggy lids to frame his once-burning green eyes. And the _wrinkles_. He hated those the most. And of course, the hang-overs were hard to deal with, especially with Toki's happy ass running around.

So that was why he drank. He drank to drown out everything in his life. He didn't want to remember it. His douchebag parents, his dick of a brother, his days in Snakes n' Barrels. He didn't want to deal with memories. So he drank. Which led to the hang-overs. He often wondered why he didn't just off himself.

Then he would remember Dethklok. His current band. The most brutal band in the world. He couldn't let his friends—no, his family—down. He had to go on for them, if for nothing else. But they wouldn't be enough to keep the pain out. Alcohol and friends weren't strong enough for the deeper cuts.

A noise and a small movement in his bed would then capture his attention and he would smile. Charles. His love, his hope, and his life. His _raison d'etre. _Charles was enough. He could go on, if only for Charles. He would face anything for Charles.

"_Into the Groove" The Medic Droid_

"Charlie, ye're so stiff all the time! C'mon, it'll be fun!" Pickles called from across Charles's desk. Charles, in turn, glared up at the redhead. The brunette's scowl was a stark contrast to the drummer's lazy grin.

"Pickles, I have work to do," Charles sighed.

"But I want ya ta dance wit' me! Please?" Pickles pleaded. He would not let this go.

Charles realized that the only way to get any peace and quiet would be to give in to his client's demand. "Fine, alright. But we're only dancing to _one_ song."

Pickles grinned wider, flicked on the radio, and plugged his iPod in. An upbeat dance song poured from the speakers. Charles came around to stand beside him. "So, uh…How do we do this?" the manager asked. Pickles only grabbed his hands and began swinging him around the room.

"Get into it, Charlie! Move yer hips! C'mon, dance like ya love me!"

"_Special Needs" Placebo_

They were always there in the back of his mind, specters of their former selves. Pickles couldn't forget them if he wanted to. And yes, he had tried to forget them. A whole case of Absolut could attest to that.

When he had left them in search of heavier music, they had told him to remember them. They loved him like he was their brother, and, truth be told, he felt the same way towards them. So he had promised not to forget them.

Pickles still called them occasionally. On their birthdays, the special holidays, and sometimes on random days when he felt lonely and nostalgic. He knew how their lives had panned out after he'd left and joined Dethklok. And every time, before he hung up, they would make him promise, again, not to forget them. Naturally, he agreed every time.

You never forget your first band.

"_Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" The Beatles_

"So this is how you see things, huh?"

Pickles looked up from the lines of cocaine he was separating on his nightstand and smirked at the brunette man, clad only in a pair of white boxer-briefs, sprawled out on his bed. It had taken a lot of convincing, but Charles was finally in the drummer's room, trying out every substance Pickles gave him.

"Everything looks so…_different_ when you're high," Charles drawled. He slowly lifted his hand and held it, palm towards the ceiling, high above his head. One by one, the mousy manager would wiggle his fingers and giggle a little bit.

"Yeah, it's fun, huh, pal?" Pickles laughed. He snorted a line and shuddered as the drug took hold of his brain. "Y'know, it's more fun when ya try an' walk."

Charles turned his head abruptly and grinned. "More fun?" He stood up, eager to know more, and promptly fell down on his bottom on the floor. After a minute of stunned and silent staring, Charles began to laugh. It came slowly at first, but soon grew into a contagious din. Before long, both men were rolling, not quite sure how they got there, but not really caring.

"_Take It Off" The Donnas_

Charles could not believe the position he was in. He was naked, lying on his back in the floor of his office, with an equally naked drunken man kneeling over him.

It had started out innocently enough. Pickles had walked—well, stumbled, really—into Charles's office. The redhead had made his way to where Charles had been sitting behind his desk. He'd seemed docile enough. Then the unthinkable had happened.

"I want ya on da floor, Charlie. Now," Pickles had demanded. When Charles sat there, simply staring at the drummer, Pickles had grabbed him by the tie, hauled him to his feet, and had promptly begun undressing the brunette.

And now Charles was naked, on his back in the floor of his office, staring up into the physical manifestation of his favorite fantasy.

"_Business Time" Flight of the Conchords_

"Ah! H-harder!" Charles gasped, breathless. Without a word, his redheaded lover complied, thrusting harder and deeper. The brunette dug his nails into Pickles's back, his hazel eyes screwed shut and his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Heh…I…I can't b-believe ya actually let me…Let me do this—GOD, YES!—do this to ya, Charlie." Pickles was breathing heavily now, sweat quite literally dripping from his face. He dipped his head down and nipped at the crook of Charles's neck. The manager, in turn, let out a gasp, his eyes flying open and a look of pure bliss painted across his face.

That did it. Something in Pickles snapped and suddenly he came, spilling himself inside Charles. He collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of his manager, panting and smiling like an idiot.

"Is that it?!" Charles asked incredulously. "P-Pickles…Tell me that's not it!"

The redhead opened his eyes and grinned over at the brunette. "Yeah, 'm afraid dat's it. But here's da good news: I'm sahrry!"

"_On the Brightside" NeverShoutNever!_

Pickles sat on his bed, glaring at the wall. Usually his height did not bother him, but there were times when his taller band mates held it against him. Today had been one of those days. He'd gone into the kitchen to find his favorite brand of booze on the highest shelf. The only other being in the room had been Skwisgaar, who, by chance, was just tall enough to reach that case of booze. The redhead had asked nicely at first, but the Swede had been far less than helpful. He had taunted Pickles and made fun of the drummer's short stature until Pickles had finally just stormed off to lock himself in his room.

And so now, here he sat, boring a hole in his wall with his mind. He didn't notice that Charles had slipped in until the manager sat down beside him.

"What's wrong, Pickles?" Charles asked, uncharacteristically sympathetic.

"I hate bein' short!" Pickles cried angrily.

Charles chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around his lover. "You're not short. You're roughly six feet tall! Besides, I like you just the way you are." He then placed a soft kiss on the redhead's forehead, bringing about a small smile from the sulking musician.

"_I Write Sins Not Tragedies" Panic! At the Disco_

Seth always managed to get what he wanted out of his brother. Always. So it was no surprise that Pickles found himself standing beside Seth at the front of a church in a tuxedo.

When he'd first received the video announcing Seth and Amber's wedding, he just couldn't believe it. Seth was, by no means, a family man. No, he was a man-whore to rival Skwisgaar, actually. This marriage wouldn't last.

It was no great shock to Pickles when, at the reception, Seth opened Dethklok's gift and burst into an undue fit of anger.

"_Thunder Kiss 65" White Zombie_

Oh, this man's mouth was Heaven! Pickles's eyes rolled back in his head and his fingers twisted into the brunette locks at his waist. Charles, encouraged by the drummer's reaction, grew bolder with his tongue, flicking it quickly across the head and then letting it slide slowly down the shaft.

It had started out as a simple business meeting between Charles and Pickles. The redhead had come in to discuss some minute detail of his life that, in his current state, he could not remember. He did remember that Charles had denied whatever inane request he'd made. And so Pickles had begun poking fun at Charles, telling him he was a chicken and he was too afraid to try anything.

"I never _try_ anything…I just do it," Charles had stated, glaring over the top rim of his glasses. And so it was that Pickles now found himself in his manager's plush office chair, with said manager's lips around his member.


End file.
